LA Connaissance
by Vaughn's Jenn
Summary: *7* definitely AU. Not realistic or true to the show at all. It's just a light, humorous (hopefully) S/V romance... therapy for me and something different from all the drama that's here now. Unlike the cliffhanger-drenched fics I usually write. JENNFIC
1. Oh Dear Heart I'm in Love

**L.A.**** Connaissance**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:**

Title: L.A. Connaissance

Author: Jennifer a.k.a. "Jenn"

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Michael Vartan but alas it is not to be… at least not in my dreams. When it IS my dreams… he's usually waiting for me… completely salivating for me of course.

Summary: I wanted to get away from the dramatic Post "The Telling" storylines (despite the fact that I wrote one of those…) and write some light, romantic, AU, and hopefully slightly humorous. 

For all the drama-ridden S/V lovers out there. This is for you as well as therapy for me.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~::~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

1.

I thought that I would always be alone. It wasn't that I had any particular physical disfigurements, any life-threatening diseases, any commitment issues, or any lack of common sense.

Or at least I hope not.

I hate to sound like the stereotypical overly-emotional female who believes that love will elude her for the rest of her life and that she will end up a spinster… but I think that there are times when you can't help but embrace your destiny. Your fate. So here I am. I don't think that it's me anymore. Or at least I realize that it wasn't me looking back.

But… I was looking for someone who was emotionally capable of… well me.

And when I found him, I just about bowled over. Because there he was… all six feet of him, looking down at me with that bemused smile crossing his face. I just about died right there.

He told me later that he felt the same thing when he saw me, that he even felt what people say they feel in the movies. I can't help but smile when I think that perhaps, upon seeing me, his knees felt a little unsure of themselves.  So, after 29 years of life, after 11 years of actually _caring_ about what would happen in my romantic life, here I am. Whole again. Ready for whatever life will toss at me. 

Hopefully.

~:~ _Flashback… which is the actual story anyway…_

"Hi."

The voice was soft to my ears and perhaps a touch embarrassed or nervous but I think that I must be mistaken for who would be silly enough to be nervous when talking to a back teller? 

Now, for the first time in 3 years, I am actually working in the very building where so many people associated me with in their minds. Marcy from Boston had caught a cold and had gone home sick… though I suspect that Rob from Accounting is waiting for her in her apartment with Chicken Noodle and a condom.

So here I am, filling in for her because there's nothing else to do and then a voice greets me with nervousness and I'm curious. Either curious or overanalyzing.

And when I look up from the incredibly tedious and concentration-needing (and yes, I'm being slightly mocking. You don't know what tedious is until you realize that you're trapped under a metal desk in a laboratory and have to stay in your crouched and cramp-inducing position for 2 hours because the guy sitting at the desk has realized that he can't remember where exactly he left his car keys and so has to retrace every step he has ever made starting from conception) jumble of doodles that cover the notepad, my mouth falls open. Well not literally, I hope not literally, because that would be embarrassing to say the least. 

But you don't understand. You truly do NOT understand what I was looking at. This absolutely gorgeous man was standing in front of me. I judged that he was about six feet tall, with beautiful tousled blond hair and these piercing green eyes that I couldn't help but fall into. 

"H-hi." 

Yeah.

That's me. 

That is my incredibly eloquent, sexy, seduce-me-now response to his greeting. 

He said hi to me, maybe hoping that I would say something charming and witty and then he could sweep me off my feet and carry me to a plane headed for Tahiti where, upon landing, he would propose marriage and, after my acceptance, would run, laughing with me, into the perfect waves of the ocean…

… and instead received a stutter.

Maybe he thinks I'm retarded.

Great compartmentalizing. I'm the best agent _ever._ Keeping cool.

Smile. Smile Now. 

I smile. "Hi. Can I help you?"

He smiles back (he's so cute), and gives me an envelope. "I'd like to cash in a check."

"Oh. Alright." 

Because of my amazingly stealthy super-spy skills, I see that his name is Michael Vaughn. It's nice to know that I'm literate and able to read a check. And then I realize that despite my intelligence, which I think is pretty high, I have no idea how to do this. Or maybe I did but I don't _now. Spotlight on me, he's watching me, measuring my competence… and my eyes are glued to the check, completely frozen. _

I turn and grin. "I'm really sorry… it's my first day working as a teller… this might take awhile so if you want to go to someone else-"

"That's alright. I have time."

I grin, a little uneasily. "Okay."

Cashing a check is easy, cashing a check is easy.

(1) Enter the account number.

(2) Extract stated amount of money.

(3) Retrieve money.

(4) Hand it in an envelope, after recounting, to the smiling handsome man on the other side of the counter.

"Here you go."

"Thanks." 

I'm a little over eager and, because I know that I will probably never see this man again, I allow myself to think perhaps he's a little sad that I have finished. 

He turns, pauses, and turns back. "My name's Michael by the way."

Grinning, I nod. "I know. Michael Vaughn."

Despite the obvious, he has a little "blonde moment" himself (not to deprecate blondes… God knows that I'm been one enough times) and looks thoroughly confused. 

"How…"

"Your check. Says your name…"

He grins. Definitely embarrassed now. SOO cute when he's embarrassed. "Right. Bye."

I call out to his retreating figure. "SYDNEY!" He turns. "My name is Sydney."

He nods his head with that shy smile again and walks out of the room.

Oh dear heart. 

I'm in love. 

**TBC…**

_Okay, so this is out of character, alternate universe, could never happen, not very dramatic stuff. _

_But how was it anyway?_

_It's fun to write, hopefully it's fun to read._

_Review and let me know~ love y'all._

_~Jenn_


	2. Good Old Freud

**L.A.**** Connaissance**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:**

Title: L.A. Connaissance

Author: Jennifer a.k.a. "Jenn"

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Michael Vartan but alas it is not to be… at least not in my dreams. When it IS my dreams… he's usually waiting for me… completely salivating for me of course.

Summary: I wanted to get away from the dramatic Post "The Telling" storylines (despite the fact that I wrote one of those…) and write some light, romantic, AU, and hopefully slightly humorous. 

For all the drama-ridden S/V lovers out there. This is for you as well as therapy for me.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~::~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

2. 

Okay. Now I _know_ that there is something wrong with me. 

Think I'm exaggerating? I beg to differ. I grovel to differ. I defy and laugh in your face because I DIFFER. Because unless there is something SEVERELY wrong with a person, he/she can_not look at Arvin Sloane and think about sex._

And oh God, I am.

And no, I'm not deranged enough to suggest or even give a moment's thought to (shudder) sex _with_ Arvin Sloane. No, no, no. Haven't you been paying attention? Oh, you haven't? Well let me spell it out for you. Michael. MICHAEL. M-I-C-H-A-E-L. It's him that I'm having tumble-down thoughts about. 

It's him that I'm… making… up my own expressions for… (what the hell is a 'tumble-down' thought?!?!?!)

Okay, away from the tumbling and the down-ing. I'm listening. I swear to God I'm listening. 

Czech agents. Mmhm, okay. Yeah… stolen files, missing identities. Now _this is right up my alley. __This I can do with my eyes closed. Well, maybe not _closed_ but I can do this a lot more…deftly… than I cashed that check. _

I close my eyes and inwardly sigh and shake my head at myself. Sydney, Sydney, Sydney. Be glad that you were only taking over the position for Marcy today and that you're not a real bank teller. Give thanks. Every day. All the time. Really. You would be a disgrace to the banking population.

(_I know that I'm being confusing so I will comment on my thoughts. Weird. Anyway, in case you forgot… Marcy is the Marcy from __Boston__ who caught cold and went home sick into the open arms of Rob from accounting… oh yeah. And his Chicken Noodle and condoms. Not together. There were no chicken noodle condoms. You're sick.)_

"Sydney."

"Yes?" I look up, trying to look professional despite my flaming face. 

"I need you to stay after to discuss an extra little thing that you will be doing."

"Of course."

See? I _can_ formulate my own sentences thank you very much. I don't have to stutter. I didn't have to stutter. 

(_Did you forget how I stuttered? Can't believe I'm reminding you but this was when he said hi to me sigh… he said hi to me… he recognized my existence and the only dignified response I came up with was the EXACT SAME THING. And add a stutter in there. He thinks I'm retarded. But he's also in love with me. He just doesn't know it yet.)_

At least Sloane's impressed.

::

I dutifully stand outside the door until he looks up at me, smiles, and motions me to come in. "Sydney."

"Mr. Sloane."

He perches on the edge of his desk and looks at me for a moment while I sit down. It's kind of creepy but I don't really pay attention to it because… well, you know the 'because' part of this already. (_Because I'm lusting after Michael if you haven't caught on)._

"I need you to do something…"

I figured.

And so he proceeds to tell me that the larger, non-secret, branch of the CIA is keeping files from him and that, though he has utmost respect for the powers the be up there in CIA domain, they simply do not understand how much he needs this information. 

So he needs to borrow it. 

Hmm… well, I can understand not being understood. Though that's mostly my fault right? God I wish I could turn back time. But it's probably good that I can't, I would probably make the situation worse. God, can you imagine me actually managing to say syllables the correct way on the first try only to… I don't know, spit on him or something? Let out some Freudian slip or some kind?

 "Oh, well thank you for using our services, Mr. Vaughn. I must say that I really enjoyed all the sex - er- I mean your business… with the bank…not with me because you didn't have any business with me… personally… though if you would step into the bathroom I would love to ravage you sometime in the near future." Ha, that's not a Freudian slip… that's more like a Freudian-outright "I want you oh baby oh baby" line. 

Good old Freud. 

Back to the point. 

God, for a government agent, I really digress a lot. 

Whatever squeezes my lemon right? 

And you know what you should do when life hands you a lemon. Make grape soda and let the whole world wonder how the hell you did it. 

Oh, you like that don't you? 

Squeezes _your _lemon does it? 

Guess whose lemon I want to squeeze right about now? Or maybe I'll just stop talking before I embarrass myself with innuendos that I don't even understand myself…

Digressing again.

~:~

Strolling in through the doors. 

"Hello, may I help you?"

"I'm with Credit Dauphine and I have a meeting with Mr… Mr. Vaughn."

Whoops. Forgot to do my research did I? And what did I do? Did I use a generic name that a million CIA agents or personnel might have? No. I didn't say Agent Smith or Mr. Bob. 

I really need to learn to compartmentalize. Seriously. Maybe _this_ is why I don't have a boyfriend. You know, besides the whole "I'm a spy" thing. 

"You mean Agent Vaughn?"

"Yes." Hmm. There's an Agent Vaughn. Now wouldn't that be dandy? Haha, I won't let myself get carried away. Probably because, now that I think about it, Vaughn isn't exactly the rarest surname to have. Just the sexiest. Well, better than Bristow. For some reason, when I hear "Bristow", I think of chicken. I don't know why. Don't ask.

"I'm sorry but I don't see an appointment listed here."

You wouldn't. 

"Are you sure?"

"I can call if you would like."

This lady is stupid. Doesn't she know that if I were some sort of enemy to the US, then I  could say yes and then confirm the names of agents and then go berserk and kill them or something??

Well not all of them. I would probably save Agent Vaughn. You know, unless it was like his father… or grandfather… then I would let him live… just… yeah. I really need to just stop. 

Shut up and talk to the stupid lady, Sydney. 

"Sure. Do that please."

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

"Hello Agent Vaughn? Are you scheduled for a meeting right now? With who? Ummm… hold on," she turns to me and raises her eyebrows.

"Credit Dauphine."

"-Credit Dauphine. Is that your- oh, it _is _your bank? Were you expec- no? Do you want me to send her aw- no? Who? Yes it's a her- why? Is her name Syd-I don't know? Do you want me to ask her if-no? Yes she is standing next to me. Is she a brun-don't say this out loud? Well… would you like to talk to her-no? Ummm… I don't understand. What is it exactly that you want me to do?"

Hmmm… she gets cut off. A lot. And this Agent Vaughn is a very inquisitive man. Interesting. 

She looks at me with wide big eyes full of confusion and tears that are about to explode off her face and hands me the phone. 

"Hello?"

"Hello?" 

Umm… this isn't very professional. I don't think I'm good at my job anymore. And maybe it's just me but his voice really sounds like Michael's. You know… judging from the four to ten words I heard come out of his mouth.

"Who is this?"

"Hello, I'm a representative from Credit Dauphine here to speak with you about some very pressing financial matters."

"Is this about my account?"

Hmm… I think I have encountered a problem. See, I was supposed to get a meeting and then go into a corridor and slip away and borrow some files you see. The poor jerk wasn't actually supposed to expect me to come… 

About his account?? Umm… sure… perhaps. "Yes. Yes it is."

"I'm sorry, but were we scheduled for a meeting or is this about the check I cashed in yesterday?"

Check? Cashed in? YESTERDAY? Agent VAUGHN?

Oh. My. God. 

**TBC…**

Hey, no one ever said that stories have to be realistic. 

But it's kinda funny right?

No matter. I think it's funny. Mo thinks it's funny. I'm having a blast writing this and now life is good. Haha. 

Leave me love!

-Jenn


	3. Float Some Boats

**L.A.**** Connaissance**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:**

Title: L.A. Connaissance

Author: Jennifer a.k.a. "Jenn"

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Michael Vartan but alas it is not to be… at least not in my dreams. When it IS my dreams… he's usually waiting for me… completely salivating for me of course.

Summary: I wanted to get away from the dramatic Post "The Telling" storylines (despite the fact that I wrote one of those…) and write some light, romantic, AU, and hopefully slightly humorous. 

For all the drama-ridden S/V lovers out there. This is for you as well as therapy for me.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~::~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

3.

Okay, you want the rundown? Here it is. I'm standing in the front office-circle-thing with my mouth open in shock because I've just realized that Mr. Perfect,** _my_**_ Mr. Perfect... so don't you get any ideas,_ is a CIA agent. I think. 

When this kind of thing happens, you have to wonder how many slkhjsvbldijubf (this means "anonymous") Vaughns cashed in checks yesterday at Credit Dauphine. Interesting question isn't it? It's like when you ask yourself, "Hm, I wonder how many people are eating oranges with forks right now." Oh. No one? Just me then, huh? Well, at least I'm not Amelie (in the movie: Amelie)... because she liked to ask herself questions too. Only they weren't 'how many forks into oranges" questions...they were more like "Hmm... I wonder how many people are having orgasms right now." That kind of thing.

"Yes. Yes it is. This is _Michael_ Vaughn isn't it?"

Please let it be Michael Vaughn.

"Yes it is. Is there something wrong with the account?"

Biting lip, frantically racking brain as to what to do next. "I'm sorry but I'm really not comfortable doing this over the phone. Are you terribly busy right now?"

"Is this Sydney?"

Hmmm. Option to flirt. Option to be professional. 

(Miniature Sydney pops up on my shoulder and holds up two hands showing the options. She moves them up and down inversely to each other and then rolls her eyes and looks at me as if to ask if I'm stupid.) Hmmm. Interesting. She seems to think that being stupid is passing up an oppotunity to... squeeze some lemons and not, you know, helping to preserve the safety of the whole country.

Nope it's all about me. That's so bad. Little Sydney, you should be ASHAMED of yourself. But no use trying to stop destiny right?

"Would it make a difference if I was Sydney?"

I can hear his grin through the phone line.  "Perhaps."

I have to smile at this because never in a million years would I have dreamed, well okay I _did_ dream but nevertheless, that I would actually be on the phone talking to MR. PERFECT. And he's flirting with me. I mean, yes, it's not the kind of outrageous flirting where you're spitting cherries into one another's mouths and everyone in the whole room already knows that you two will end up together someway somehow by the end of the week (if not the hour), but bantering over a CIA phone isn't a bad start.

Which shows once again why Sydney Anne Bristow is so, so alone. Was so so alone. Does this still count as alone? 

"Well, then I'm sorry Mr. Vaughn. This is Valerie from Accounting and I actually just have a few questions for you." Mini-Syd is grinning wickedly at me and I'm still trying to think about whether I should continue to let him think that I'm Valerie so that I can go and do my job or if I should give him a break and make him the happiest (and luckiest) man in the world by agreeing that yes, I am Sydney, the woman of his wildest dreams and imagination. Ready to squeeze –er- float some boats and to _finally make real some very _very_ tumble-down thoughts. _

"Is this really?" He doesn't believe me. At first I'm a little miffed because he should at least pretend to believe me because I might not be Valerie but I _could_ be Valerie from Accounting and that's the thing he's missing. 

But then again, that just means he's right. Good job super spy, master of all language and disguise. Score: -1 for Bristow. I decide to make him make it up to me later and just let him off the hook now. You know, because I'm so magnanimous and stuff. "Actually, it _is Sydney. Do you have time to talk about your account right now? I realize that you're busy bu-"_

"-NO! I mean... no. I'm not busy right now. If you ask Nathalie where my office is, I'm sure she'll be glad to hel- well, at least _try to help."_

"Nathalie?"

"Umm... the slightly confused blonde secretary that repeated everything I said so that you could hear every word."

"Got it. She's found her perfect career hasn't she?"

"And who says that the CIA is incompetent?"

I grin. I realize now that I wasn't in _love_ with Michael before. I was just... you know, absolutely sex-crazed about him to put it bluntly. I never thought about what his personality would be like because I just took the 10 seconds worth about personality that I saw and shaped it into _the_ guy. The thing is I actually like him. He's great. So screw the job for an hour. I can still get the files. Just... after a little "me" time. Looks AND personality... GGGooooollyyyyy. Some men you know for years and they only _have_ 10 seconds worth of personality.

Like Rob from Accounting. I mean, he's nice and all but not much of a talker... Or an anything-er. He just sits... and accounts. Poor Marcy. I don't think he's a very good lover... But he does make great Chicken Noodle. He brought me some once for my birthday, sans the condom of course, and it was superb. But I shouldn't be too mean to the guy right? I mean, for all I know, he could be a fantastic lover. Maybe... maybe he makes Marcy make sounds no woman has made before or something. 

So good luck to the both of them.

I digress.

Back to me. 

"Okay, I'll do that."

"See you in a bit."

Nathalie-the-blonde-secretary lifts her eyebrows in a secret smile that's supposed to bond us in the secret sisterhood of all women. Meaning she thinks Michael and I are screwing around and she has seen his glorious physique and is jealous (because she _does have eyes you know... despite the lack of sense) and so instead wants to live the whole glorious ordeal vicariously through me._

Well I have one thing to say to her. Moohaha. I got him and you didn't so nah-ni-nah-ni-nah-nah. I clear my throat. "Can you please direct me to Agent Vaughn's office please?"

She looks down hurriedly. "Yes. Yes I can. I have it right here, I promise." She shuffles through the papers on her desk. "Okay, okay, I don't see them but I know where his office is." She shuts her eyes tightly in very deep concentration and little wrinkles appear around her eyes and she tries to think. "Okay, you go down and then to your left, no to your right and then 3-no 4 wait- that's Kemble's office. 5, 6,…7. Yes. 7 doors on the right side of the left corridor."  She beams. 

"Thanks."

She's thinking that she did a good job and is now patting herself on the back. 

I'm thinking that I dressed too conservative today and that if my neckline was 5 inches lower, I wouldn't be complaining.

**TBC…**

Nathalie: I hope you weren't offended at how I wrote the secretary, I named her after you because you told me too but I'm not sure if you minded or not. She's a little ditzy you know. ;) I'll change it if you hate it. 

Kat: Just for you. 

Leave me some feedback~ (is it losing its touch… a person can only be so funny in the midst of finals. DIE GERMAN DIE!!! And French. And Western Civ. GAH.)

~Jenn


	4. WE WANT CLEAVAGE

**L.A.**** Connaissance**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:**

Title: L.A. Connaissance

Author: Jennifer a.k.a. "Jenn"

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Michael Vartan but alas it is not to be… at least not in my dreams. When it IS my dreams… he's usually waiting for me… completely salivating for me of course.

Summary: I wanted to get away from the dramatic Post "The Telling" storylines (despite the fact that I wrote one of those…) and write some light, romantic, AU, and hopefully slightly humorous. 

For all the drama-ridden S/V lovers out there. This is for you as well as therapy for me.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~::~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

4. 

Okay, so it takes like a million hours to find the stupid door and by the time I find it, I'm almost angry. I almost don't even want to have sex with Michael Vaughn anymore. 

Almost.

So I knock in a way that I hope is at least slightly feminine… you know, one of those "tap tap tap"s instead of the actual "KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK"s and then I wait. 

And as soon as he says "Come in, I'm ready for you", I think I'm going to melt. He has a great voice… I knew he did already but that sentence confirms it. And his choice of words? What the hell was that? What can I say? Please tell me that that was weird for you too. 

So I bite my lip and take one last mean look at my neckline before opening the door. 

My neckline is bothering me. 

It's been bothering me ever since I left the circular-office type thing… it's right under my collar bone and it's rather frustrating to be so… so clothed. Especially in front of this kind of company. _Shrink. Shrink damn it! Come on neckline, you can do it, stretch, stretch… come on!!! Just a little cleavage! I'm not asking for much!_ Little Sydney reappears on my shoulder and joins my mind in her chants. _Low-er neck-lines! We want cleavage! We want cleavage!_

I don't know how long I was just standing in the doorway staring at my chest before he cleared his throat in this really uncomfortable sounding way and said "Umm… you wanted to ask me about something?"

I sort of… jump… or flinch. And that bothers me because I think I'm supposed to be this great… stone wall… type thing/person/spy machine! But no. The exclamation point really wasn't needed was it? That's Marcy's fault. She started going to therapy a couple weeks ago and her therapist said that she wasn't excited enough about life. 

I don't know how excited you can be about life when you're dating Rob from Accounting. Well… I mean if you're dating the Rob that I mentioned earlier who has a completely different –come-hither-and-let-me-ravage-you-and-let's-see-how-many-different-sounds-you-can-make attitude, then that's cool but I seriously doubt that that's the case. 

Now that I think about it, she started seeing the therapist right about the time she accepted Rob's invitation to go see the chicken farm. Hmm… what does this tell you? It's times like these that you have to ask yourself, "Is Rob worth the Chicken Noodle?" 

Whoa… that was a huge digression. Anyway, the original point was that Marcy is supposed to use at least 15 exclamation points a day to spruce up her life. And it's catching I guess. 

Ahem.

"Yes I did. Thank you for agreeing to see me."

I smile my best 'I'm-really-not-as-stupid-as-I-seem-but-if-I-am-…-don't-you-think-I- have-a-great-smile?- smile. And it so works. These, my friend, are some good pearly-whites. There was a guy at the supermarket once who asked me if I worked for the toothpaste agency. You know, as a tooth model. 

Okay, not really but it _could_ have happened. 

And he smiles back. YES! Crest conquers the world once again. 

"That's no problem, I didn't have that much work to do anyway." I watch him as he nonchalantly tries to move a 15-inch pile of paper from in front of him. "So… is there something wrong with the account?"

I rack my brain for a reason and to distract him from the fact that I have suddenly gone mute, I look around and then look at him pointedly, sending him a subliminal message. _Be a gentleman. Chivalry, chivalry, huh huh HUH!_

"Oh, I'm sorry. Please sit down."

"Thanks." I flash another grin and sit down, crossing my legs and willing my neckline to lower. Yeah… so I'm not as sophisticated and classy as I seem on the exteri-HAHAHAHA. Oh man. I couldn't even get through that one sentence in my head without cracking up. I'm just a kid… spydom chose _me_. 

And then the moment happens.

I'm not talking about the moment where we gaze deeply into each other's eyes and manage to uncover the depths of the other's soul and realize that we _are kindred spirits and that we will love each other for all eternity. _

More like the moment we look across the table at each other and try to figure out stuff to say while looking like we're having fun just staying silent. This is uncomfortable. And I'm supposed to have a reason for being here too. Unacceptable Sydney! Unacceptable. 

Little Sydney slumps over and mopes, wishing that she could've given me the better advice so that I could be out of here with the files by now. 

"The thing is-" I opt for the half truth. "The thing is, that there really isn't anything wrong with your account."

His eyebrows raise and then he starts to grin but checks himself. "Really? Then what are you here for?"

I look at him, resisting the desire to roll my eyes. "You're seriously not asking me that question."

He smiles in earnest now. "Why not?"

"Because you know perfectly well by now that I think that you're attractive and I came all this way to talk to you and I had to pretend to understand that secretary's directions and then pretend and lie about some malfunctioning account… and you're still being egotistical enough to ask me what I'm doing here."

"Oh."

Haha… he's defeated. His lemons are squeezed now. Kinda. 

**TBC…**

OH MY GOD PEOPLE~!!! 

I think I've forgotten how to be funny! I've used up all my funny! OH NO!!! This is bad. Really bad. I've used my lifetime supply of funny and now this story is going to be boring/already is.

Uh-oh.

HELP!!!

~Jenn


	5. Nice Arms and Little Pooftahs

**L.A.**** Connaissance****  
~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:**  
Title: L.A. Connaissance  
Author: Jennifer a.k.a. "Jenn"  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I wish I owned Michael Vartan but alas it is not to be… at least not in my dreams. When it IS my dreams… he's usually waiting for me… completely salivating for me of course.  
Summary: I wanted to get away from the dramatic Post "The Telling" storylines (despite the fact that I wrote one of those…) and write some light, romantic, AU, and hopefully slightly humorous.   
  
For all the drama-ridden S/V lovers out there. This is for you as well as therapy for me.  
~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~::~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:  
5.   
  
Huh.   
  
You know, right after I said all that, he kinda put his arm down on the table and I'm still just you know… looking at it.   
  
It's a really nice arm.  
  
Good color… it looks strong and I think that if I just rolled up his sleeves a little, there'd be some muscle smiling up at me. Yes? Yes. Definitely a good arm.   
  
Wait. OOH LOOK! There's his other one! He's got two **great **arms… and, sorry if this seems a little odd, but I really _really _want them wrapped around me right now. I'm actually starting to feel a little inadequate though. I mean I'm not dowdy or anything but sitting right in front of him makes me realize that even though I'm a highly trained secret agent who knows how to use all her resources… I haven't got running in a while.  
  
I think I feel a little stomach pouch growing already. Oh my God. I'm getting a pooftah. OH MY LORD!!!!! I'm getting a **_poof-tah_**. That's not fair… that's REALLY REALLY not fair… you're not supposed to start getting a poof-tah until you're in your 50s or something! Maybe in your 40s but still! I'm still a baby compared to the age spectrum and I'm getting a POOF-TAH??? You have got to be kidding me.   
  
Oh.   
  
Oh wait.   
  
Ha.   
  
Just kidding. That wasn't a baby poof-tah. That was just one of those pop-up wrinkles in my suit.  
  
Whew. Close one.   
  
Hmm… I guess it's time to look up and actually see his face instead of lusting after his arm no?  
  
I look up and he's just sort of looking at me with this expression on his face that I can't quite read. "Umm… hi."  
  
And then he sort of smiles in this really sweet, gentle way that makes me what to melt or swoon or something. His eyes are really beautiful when he smiles. And when he doesn't. Wow, it really does not matter with this guy… he's just absolutely beautiful. Way to go Syd! You sure know how to pick them! _::High Five!!!:: _  
  
"Hey."  
  
Did I mention that I love his voice? Because I do. I really love the way it sounds and, even though I've known the guy for about 2 minutes, we've looked into each other's souls and all that jazz, so I've already decided that I wouldn't mind if he said "hey" to me for the rest of my life in that exact tone.   
  
"So… is there any response to that?" I lift my eyebrow and hope to God that I seem coy and cute and sexy all wrapped into one and that I'm not just coming off as an imbecile with a poof-tah. Because that wouldn't be who I am… that would be describing Rob.   
  
And I'm not Rob.   
  
If I am, kill me.   
  
Wait. Scratch that, erase and edit! Let me make some Chicken Noodle, feed it to myself, and then kill me. After it's digested of course. It's going to be my last meal so let me enjoy it for God's sake!  
  
"My response to what exactly? That I'm egotistical and taking advantage of the risk that you took to see me?"  
  
I smile a little sheepishly (well… it seems sheepish to him but for me, it's really only an excuse for him to look at my teeth again). "Well… that sure… but I was hoping to focus more on the whole 'This incredibly gorgeous girl just lied her way into a CIA office just to see me' thing and feel flattered."  
  
He smiles back (again!!!) and I mentally swoon (again!!!) and then he speaks (again!!!). "I can do that."  
  
Another smile for him. Reward. Good Boy.   
  
"Good."  
  
"Good."  
  
Okay, now I'm not kidding anymore. I'm seriously feeling all cute and coy and sexy so I lower my head to hide my blushing face (I don't want him to see me all red so soon in our "relationship") and lo and behold!!!   
  
I must've started shrinking when I started worrying about my non-existent poof-tah or my suit must have gotten a little larger or _something_ because I swear that my neckline is not where it was when I walked into this office.  
  
  
  
Niiiice.   
  
  
  
**  
tbc.  
  
Review? Bump?   
  
  
  
  
still funny? Losing it a little? yeh. I'll try harder next time.**


	6. EEYEEEEEEOIIIHUUUIEEOOOOIIUUUEEHHYYYYYY

**LA Connaissance**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:**

**6.**

** EEYEEEEEEOIIIHUUUIEEOOOOIIUUUEEHHYYYYYY **

Okay okay okayokayokay. Sorry I left you alone for so long but I'm just too excited to... speak... to think... God I don't even know if I can function right now. 

Hold on a second and let me check. 

Finger! MOVE!

Okay good. My finger moved. So I do have some control over my body still. That's nice to know... Unless there _was_ someone who had control over my body and also my mind and so _knew_ that I was ordering my finger to move to make me _think_ that I had control over my body only to desert me later when... when... when I'm about to kiss Michael! What if I started going crazy and like frothing at the mouth and he hates me forever!!!???

Okay... so maybe calming down would be a good thing. But I'm going into the bank and I see Marcy coming towards me and the sight of another person with estrogen in their body makes me want to go all girly and shriek and spew all the details. So I do.  

"Hey Syd... What's with all the bubbliness?"

"Bubbliness?"

"You know... usually when I see you, you look all stone faced and serious like you're about to save the world or something-"

If only she knew.

"-oh my god. It's a man isn't it?"

I look up at her and grin, nodding slowly. Life is good, beautiful, yadda yadda yadda. Just... Perfection. And perfection is nice. Especially when it comes in a box and is wrapped in Michael.  

"Me too! I mean, I know that you thought I was crazy for agreeing to go to that chicken farm with Rob but now... now... just 'wow' Syd. I mean, let's just put it this way. I went home sick yesterday and he was actually already in my apartment with his Chicken Noodle -you know his Chicken Noodle right- and then he actually wanted to have sex! I mean, germination aside, that's kinda weird don't you think?"

"Well...yeah but it's Rob. Chicken-farm-first-date boy. I'd even believe it if you said that you were his first."

"I wouldn't... Because behind that skinny skinny frame and the weird hair part and the thick wire-framed glasses and the big nose-"

Sorry but I have to interrupt this. This is supposed to be MY gushing time and she is totally stealing it. God Marcy, aren't you supposed to be sick? As in, don't talk and tie your mouth shut if you can't help it? Doesn't that mean you have to wear an index card necklace that says "You're welcome to talk to me but I can't talk back because I have laryngitis."??????? 

**::GASP::** I bet she wasn't even sick!!! **::ANOTHER GASP::** No one goes home sick with laryngitis one day and comes back PERFECTLY FINE the next!!! OHMIGOD. MARCY TOOK A SEXDAY OFF!!!

"I didn't know you could hide _anything_ under that skinny skinny frame, Marcy." My voice has a bit of an edge now. I know it. I put it there on purpose that lying little 'i'll take a sexday off' bitch. Oh. Wait.

Wait.

If she hadn't taken her sexday off, SHE would have met Michael. And maybe SHE would've been all flirty and gotten a date and... and... and maybe she would've _squeezed his lemons!!!!!!!!!_ AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Okay, okay. No more edge. Gratefulness. I'm giving off gratefulness vibes. :vibe: :vibe: :vibe:

Strange. Maybe it's my over-active imagination but I'm seeing the vibes that I'm sending her and they are all bouncing off her heavily-gel-and-hair-sprayed-hair. It's serious hair. Big hair. I always thought that that was why Rob went for her. You know... to make up for his own...insecurities. 'Oh what? You're don't think I'm _adequate_? Well look at my girlfriend's hair you _dip wad_! Big enough for_ you_?'

"Very funny Syd. But let me finish my stttooorrryyy. Behind all that... He's like this absolute... bedroom _tiger!_ It's crazy!! I mean, I was all warm and happy from the Chicken Noodle and all of the sudden I'm making these SOUNDS that I've never heard myself make before... I mean I didn't even know they existed. It was so weird. It was kind of an EEYEEEEEEOIIIHUUUIEEOOOOIIUUUEEHHYYYYYY. I mean... have you _ever_ heard _anything_ like that in your life??"

"Umm... No." And frankly, Marcy, I never want to again. 

"So, what's up with you?"

"Umm... I wanted to thank you for taking the day off yesterday because I met the man I'm going to spend the rest of my life with."

"Oooh really? Is he like my Rob?"

"Umm... sure...no...no not really Marcy."

"Oh I'm sorry, hun."

"Oh, I'm really not Marcy. Rob's really not my type, I guess I'm just not a chicken-farm kinda girl."

And then she kinda plops on the floor-the BANK floor- with this little girl grin and says "Okay. Description. Now."

Well... the bank's not open yet and I do have a little time before the meeting and I'm happy and what the hell. I can do this too. So I find myself on the floor, cross-legged in front of Marcy, giving her a description whilst trying to think of a good excuse to tell Mr. Sloane so that I won't get in trouble for not getting the documents he wanted. 

"Well... He's about 6'0 feet even."

"OOH! That's like my Rob!" Umm... Marcy sweetie, are you blind? He's more like 5'2".

"And he's got these great, wonderful green eyes that just seem to pore into your soul. Your _very _soul do you understand?"

"I've always preferred blue eyes myself." Okay seriously Marcy. Totally ruining the spirit of the whole thing. I'm trying to gush here and you want to talk about Mr. Shorty McShort and his cataractically-blue eyes and his ability to make you sound like a cross between a mongoose and a wild gorilla in heat and mating... with each other... with the inclusion of a feather boa and a squeaky toy somewhere in there too, might I add.  

"Look at the time, Marcy. Gotta go."

I'm not letting her ruin my day... and knowing her, she'd probably steal him. And there is no way I'm letting her squeeze his lemons. No way in hell. May she have a poof-tah bigger than the world.

**tbc**

**more?**


	7. The Line Between

**L.A. Connaissance**  
  
7.   
  
The Line Between  
  
Have you ever had that dream where you're two years old alone in the park and some random old man gives you a shiny silver balloon and tells you that it has magic powers only instead it turns into a frog and eats you?  
  
Yeah, me too.   
  
Only not recently. In fact, I may have made that up just now. I don't really remember. Excitement does that to people you know. I don't mean turning them into compulsive liars, i mean that it can make then extremely excitable.   
  
And oh I am.   
  
Why?  
  
Okay, seriously, you're on like part 7 of my extremely-well-written memoirs and you're still asking this? Okay okay fine. (whispering) it's michael.   
  
Okay, so, the last thing I told y'all about was me completely humiliating myself and going against basically all the rules of womanhood by telling him that I might be_ vaguely_ interested in him. I mean I don't think "you know perfectly well by now that I think that you're attractive and I came all this way to talk to you and I had to pretend to understand that secretary's directions and then pretend and lie about some malfunctioning account… and you're still being egotistical enough to ask me what I'm doing here." is that clear right? There's still the chase right? RIGHT?  
  
Yeah, I thought so. He still wants me... I mean even if you/I/anonymous woman were just the teensiest bit forward and aggressive, it doesn't mean that you/I/random woman are/am/is suddenly condemned as sluts that no one wants to deal with!! Oh god... I shouldn't have done that... He's definitely not going to call.  
  
I mean who would call a lowly "bank teller" who lies to the CIA, worries about getting poof-tahs whenever she sees a wrinkle, and talks to her shirt in hopes of persuading it to stretch itself and make the neckline lower? And it gets even worse when you take a look at the people that claim to be my friends... I mean come ON! Marcy with hair big enough to make up for Rob's own...deficiencies where size matters and then Rob himself... Chicken farm date boy who, despite his chicken noodle, makes love so weirdly that the noises his "lover" makes sound like those of a dying sea monkey with no eyes and 16 ears!!!!!!  
  
God. Oh GOD what the hell was i thinking?  
  
  
**  
  
Okay you guys... This is what i wrote about 2 months ago. And I think it might be dead. Maybe when I'm stressed, I'll deal with it with humor again. And Junior Year spells out stress so you may see more of this story sooner than you thought...  
  
that is... If any of you still remember this... Or like it anymore... Or read it... Yeah.  
  
  
Let me know what you think.  
  
-jenn**


End file.
